


212

by betterrecieved



Category: Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porny post-Victory ficlet.  Flirty Nasir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	212

Nasir stands shamefaced before smoking, charred cooking pot. “I told you, I was not cook, I only oversaw cooking at villa and camp!” he groans.

“Nasir, you must take the water from fire when it begins to bubble - that means it is done.”

“I was distracted just now, of course I am able to boil water. If you know so much, why do you not cook, then?” Nasir asks irritably. Then he sees hurt look on Agron’s face and goes to sideboard. “Apologies. I will cut us a loaf of bread, there is so much left over from what I baked this morning. It was a little burnt…”

“That was _bread_?”

Nasir looks up at him sharply, but Agron only seems puzzled. “It will turn out better next time,” Nasir vows.

“I will help you,” says Agron. Nasir looks at Agron’s hands, but Agron smiles. “I used to help my mother when I was a boy. It is all in the motion of the arms…”

Nasir watches as Agron somehow conjures bread dough from confounding pile of ingredients set out upon table. “Should I cut these vegetables to go with the hare?”

“Yes,” says Agron. “Do not cut them too small, they will cook too fast. Nasir, be watchful of your fingers, you are not at war with parsnips! Come here, I will make it better with kiss.”

Agron directs him until there is a stew bubbling over the hearth and dough rising upon the side-table. Nasir cannot stop smiling: He is at home with his man, they are together, and there is no fighting to interrupt Agron’s voice gently instructing him, because they are done with battle.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Nasir asks him, wiping his flour-covered hands on his breeches.

“My mother,” says Agron. “But mostly I taught myself. My brother and I struck out from home young and never had a woman to cook for us.”

“Ah,” says Nasir. He thinks of all the years they did not know each other, how Agron was already as well-versed in the love between men as he was. “Or a man?” he ventures.

“No, only you to kill me with your cooking,” Agron laughs.

Nasir is glad of the hard bread and his good aim.

Agron dodges, crying out as loaf hits side of his head.

He stands wiping his hands upon cloth hanging from hook, and Nasir moves to stand behind him and hold him.

“My brother was no better cook than you. He did not take to it as I did, so I had to prepare our meals if I wanted edible food.”

Nasir lays his head upon Agron’s back, sighing. It is still foreign to him for them to be like this, so quiet and peaceful. “I would have you instruct me, but if it is chore…”

“I would gladly teach you, as you have done for me in so many things. I am no head cook, but _I_ will not poison us.”

“Quiet!” Nasir cries, headbutting Agron’s shoulder. “Continue to speak ill of my cooking and you may find your words come true.”

“You would not murder me, your love for me runs too deep. Or my cock runs too deep, at least.”

“Your cock does not run nearly as deep as you like to think.” Nasir rolls his eyes.

“Do you not whimper, reaching for my hand as I sink into you ever deeper with each thrust?” Agron asks in husky voice.

“Yes, but I am thinking about the horse-cock you once told me of,” Nasir says. He does not know where teasing cruelty comes from. No, he knows. It is this cottage and this freedom, he is giddy with love, drunk on his man.

Agron barks out laughter, surprised. “Harlot. And I am thinking of…”

“You are taking too long to produce untruth. You think only of me, do you not?” Nasir’s hands rub circles on Agron’s stomach, his chest. “You desire only me?” His hand brushes bulge in Agron’s subligar and retreats.

“Only you,” says Agron, stroking his arms.

“Agron. That is a lie,” Nasir hisses.

Agron stiffens and turns to face him. “Nasir, I have retired from bat-“

“Have you also retired from thoughts of horse-cock?” Nasir laughs, lifting his eyebrow.

Agron looks down his nose at him, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I am retired, and stuck here instead with _lazy_ cock.”

Nasir lets out shocked laugh, because it is true. “I admit, I am spoiled by gladiator’s fearsome length.” He bats his lashes, cups Agron’s erection and squeezes. “But I _need_ it.”

“Do not pitch your voice so high, I will think woman is fondling me and grow soft.” Agron is truly lying this time, he is rock-hard and in no danger of flagging.

“Such a nice gladiator cock,” Nasir sing-songs in girlish voice.

“Suck it, then,” says Agron, pulling down his subligar. He has always been assertive, but never so blunt. Nasir instantly goes down on his knees, looking up at him through filter of his eyelashes.

He licks from base to tip, one long, flat wet swipe. Then he stands back up. “Is stew done now?”

“Nasir!” Agron can only stand there looking helpless, his cock pointing accusingly.

“I am hungry,” Nasir tells him, smacking Agron’s sad erection gently across the head so that it bounces.

He follows Agron to the hearth, watches him stir their stew which is nowhere near done. “Do not burn your cock, Agron,” he says worriedly.

Agron laughs at him.

“It is a nice fucking cock! I would be saddened if it were injured.” Nasir unties cord holding up breeches, steps out of them as they fall to floor. “Do you know who is also well-hung?” He slowly fists his cock, craning his neck up at Agron.

“Nasir,” Agron groans, staring at Nasir’s hand pumping.

“Yes, exactly. Nasir’s cock _is_ large one, is it not?” Nasir opens his palm underneath his shaft so that Agron can see his pretty circumcised length.

“It only appears to be third leg because you are small,” Agron laughs, then turns husky again. “Finger yourself, Nasir. Let Agron see your fingers go in and out.”

“You do not play fairly,” says Nasir, pouting. He walks away slowly so that Agron can admire his ass as he follows, then stretches out upon the sofa, spreading legs for Agron to sit between.

This is new also, having to prepare himself. But Agron will not trust his clumsy hands to not hurt him.

Nasir breaches himself slowly with oiled fingers, watching Agron’s open-mouthed stare.

“Nasir, you are sight more beautiful than Rome aflame,” Agron sighs. “If my hands were once again as they were…”

Nasir’s eyes fill. “Agron. Tell me.”

“I dream of my hands on you, Nasir. Taking you with my fingers. Brushing your hair until you fall asleep between my legs. Holding your hand when when you reach for mine.”

“You do not dream of battle?” Nasir asks in small voice. His hands lie on his thighs, clenched into fists.

Agron leans forward and Nasir’s lips tremble when they kiss. Agron pulls away and says, “I dream of hot blood and cold bodies. Of my strong hands wielding gladius and shield. Hard steel sinking into yielding flesh. In my dreams I kill them all.”

“If your hands healed, I would be by your side,” Nasir reminds him.

Agron smiles, strokes Nasir’s face. “Yes, of course you would be by my side. Learning to cook in our kitchen, milking your goats, planting our garden.”

Nasir laughs through his tears. “They are your goats, too.”

“Yes, they are mine as well.” Agron kisses his neck. “Everything of yours is mine, everything of mine is yours.”

“Agron.” Nasir moans, arching up into Agron’s body. “Fuck me.”

Agron huffs laughing breath against Nasir’s neck. “I must check on stew first…”

Nasir strikes him hard on the shoulder. “I will take up spear against you if you do not…Ah…” When Agron enters him, Nasir sees crimson and white and all of the colors that are Agron.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Nasir chants. It hurts, he must grip Agron’s strong shoulders so that he does not die. Then strong arms pull him close and he is living more brightly than he has ever lived with flaring sun of Agron blinding him.

*

Agron lies back on sofa and Nasir lies aginst his chest between his legs.

They spoon stew directly from pot resting upon floor below them. Agron eats with utensils Nasir has modified with thick blocks of wood and leather straps.

Nasir’s spoon clatters to floor. He is too tired to retrieve it, so he opens his mouth and waits for Agron to carefully fill it.

“Freedom has spoilt you,” Agron laughs.

“ _You_ were already spoiled,” Nasir retorts with his mouth full.

“Chew your food, I am not going to do that for you as well.”

“Yes, you would. I would chew yours for _you,_ ” Nasir says once he has swallowed. He cranes his neck up at Agron, makes his eyes huge.

Agron’s laughter shakes them both. “You are right, I suppose I would if I had to. As long as you did not cook it.”

Nasir is too lazy to lift his arm, so he bites Agron’s nipple hard.

*

Nasir never does learn to cook, but Agron never grows tired of teaching him.


End file.
